Page 31 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

I should be asleep.

The worship night ended hours ago. My makeup is long gone, my hair’s a mess, and my feet still ache from standing—but I can’t stop replaying everything in my mind.

The music. The message. The moment Gray kissed me in front of everyone.

I trace my fingers over my lips, still feeling the ghost of it.

I tuck the blanket tighter around my shoulders and sit up in bed, the glow of the streetlight outside casting faint patterns across my ceiling.

I should feel whole right now. Joyful. At peace.

And I do. Kind of.

But also—I don’t.

Because the truth is, I wasn’t completely honest with Gray tonight. Even when we talked on the phone earlier.

He looked so alive after worship. He ran to me like I was part of it. Like he wanted to share that mountaintop moment with me .

And I let him believe I felt it too.

I did feel something. Absolutely.

But not in the way he probably thinks.

It wasn’t just the music or the message or the packed sanctuary.

It was that song. His song.

The way the lyrics spoke directly to parts of me I didn’t know were still bleeding. The line about not having to earn your place with God. About Him having arms wide open, giving me rest, not waiting till I had it all together. It hit me like a wave.

I nearly told him that.

Nearly said, “I felt like that song was written for me. Like it was peeling something open that I’ve kept hidden for a long time.”

But I didn’t.

Because saying that felt too…intimate.

Too much.

Like if I admitted it, I’d be crossing a line from interested in God to all in.

And I don’t know if I’m ready to be all in yet.

What if I say too much and disappoint Gray?

What if I open up and it changes the way he sees me?

What if he finds out I’m still half-lost and doesn’t want to stick around to help me find the rest?

I roll over and grab my phone, thumb hovering over his name.

I type: I wish I had said more tonight.

Then delete it.

I try again: Your song, it made me feel something I didn’t know I needed to feel.

Delete .

Eventually I decide not to send anything at all.

I turn my phone on silent, plug it into the charger, and curl deeper into the blankets. The quiet hum of the night fills my room, but in my head, it’s not silence at all. It’s Gray’s voice, his lyrics, wrapping around me like a melody that refuses to let go.

I close my eyes, my lips tugging into a small smile, and let the sound of him linger in the dark like a prayer I didn’t know I needed. My chest feels warm, heavy and light all at once.

And with his song echoing in my memory, I finally drift toward sleep.

I tug at the hem of my blouse for the third time before stepping through the glass doors of the church office. My stomach knots the way it always does before interviews—except this doesn’t even feel like an interview. At least, not in the traditional sense.

The prayer and worship night graphics had been my “trial run.” A way to dip my toe in, see if I fit. And apparently, I did—because when Pastor Greg emailed to set up this meeting, he said they wanted to talk “next steps.”

Still, my thoughts spiral: What if I misunderstood? What if this is just a polite thank-you and a smile? What if they realize I’m not the “church girl” they’re expecting?

I balance my portfolio in one hand, swipe a clammy palm across my jeans, and whisper under my breath, “Okay, Lord. If this is from You, open the door. If it’s not, shut it tight. ”

The receptionist waves me back to the conference room, where Pastor Greg and Emily—the communications director—are already seated with coffees in hand.

“Thanks for coming, Ivy,” Pastor Greg says, his smile wide and steady. “We’ll get right to it.”

I freeze halfway into my chair. That’s fast.

Emily slides a folder across the table toward me. “We don’t want to waste your time with formality. We loved your work, and the truth is—we want you on our team. Part-time, flexible hours. And the first big project?” She grins, almost conspiratorial. “Christmas Eve service.”

My jaw drops. “Christmas? But it’s August.”

Emily laughs. “Exactly. The timeline leaves room for edits, printing, and promotion. We’ve learned the hard way that Christmas can’t be rushed.”

Her words blur for a moment as I stare at the folder in front of me. Lord…is this really happening?

I prayed before I walked in—asking Him to open the right doors. And here I am, with one wide open in front of me.

My chest tightens, but not with fear this time. With awe.

Okay…wow. So, uh…You really are using me, huh? Even with my random design skills? Like, fonts and colors and obsessing over Photoshop layers at 2 a.m.. That’s…actually something You can use?

That doesn’t even sound real. But here it is. A church job. My work up on display. Not because I’m “good enough,” but because You decided it mattered. Because somehow You think I matter.

That’s wild, God. Really wild.

I press my hand against the folder, swallowing the lump in my throat, and whisper a silent thank You before looking back up with a shaky smile.

For a second, the room blurs. My mind races ahead to colors, fonts, Christmas lights, giant banners with Scripture woven through them. Ideas spill faster than I can catch them. It feels too big and too good, and for a heartbeat, I forget where I am.

“So,” Pastor Greg’s voice breaks through my thoughts, warm and steady, “are you in?”

My head jerks up, cheeks heating. “Yes. Yes, absolutely. I’m in.”

His smile deepens, and he gestures for the team to gather closer. “Let’s pray over Ivy and this new role.”

We bow our heads, and his voice carries with a gentleness that makes my eyes sting.

“Father, we thank You for Ivy. Thank You for the creativity You’ve placed in her, the eye for beauty, the heart for excellence, the desire to serve.

We believe You don’t waste any gift, Lord, and tonight we set her apart for the work You’ve called her to do here.

Use her talents to glorify Your name. Give her peace when deadlines feel heavy, fresh ideas when inspiration runs dry, and joy in the process.

May every design she creates point people back to You, the true Artist. Surround her with encouragement and remind her she’s not doing this alone.

We pray protection, provision, and blessing over this next season. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

By the time they lift their heads, I can hardly sit still. My chair scrapes back, and I promise to follow up soon, but my feet are already light as air.

I all but skip out of the meeting, folder hugged to my chest, giddy grin stretched wide.

I slip into the driver’s seat of my car, still clutching my tote bag against my chest. My hands are shaking a little, enough that I have to take a few deep breaths before I even think about turning the ignition.

I’m on the team.

The words replay in my mind, over and over, like they’re caught on a loop. I press my palms against my cheeks, feeling the warmth there. The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins, leaving me wide-eyed and practically buzzing.

“Did that really just happen?” I whisper to myself, staring out the windshield at the buildings in the distance. The sky is a pale, soft blue, dotted with clouds that look like they were painted there.

I pinch my arm, yelping a little when I do. But it’s real. This is real.

I sink back against the headrest, covering my mouth as a laugh slips out. How did I get here? Two months ago, I didn’t even know this church existed. Now, I’m designing their Christmas Eve service. Getting paid for it. Actually getting paid to do what I love.

I pull my phone from my bag and scroll to Gray’s contact. My fingers hover over the screen for a second, and then I type out a quick message:

Ivy

Are we still on for dinner tonight?

I stare at the screen, my heart doing a familiar flip as the three little dots pop up almost immediately.

Gray

Of course. How did your meeting go?

I bite my lip, a grin spreading across my face. My fingers hover for just a second before I decide to keep him guessing.

Ivy

You’ll see.

The dots pop up again, pausing, disappearing, and then finally:

Gray

So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Keeping secrets?

Ivy

Maybe just one See you at 7?

Gray

Wouldn’t miss it.

I drop my phone into the cup holder, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I take another deep breath.

My whole body feels lighter, like I’m floating.

Like maybe this is what it feels like when things start falling into place—not in some big, cinematic way, but in the quiet, ordinary steps that add up to something extraordinary.

I glance in the rearview mirror one last time, the church framed against the sky. The building looks the same as it did when I pulled in earlier—red brick, clean lines, nothing flashy. But it feels different now, like it’s part of my story instead of just a backdrop to someone else’s.

As I back out of the lot and ease onto the main road, the smile on my face softens into something steadier. I don’t know what this new path is going to look like. I don’t even know if I’m fully ready for it.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe faith isn’t about having every answer lined up before you move forward. Maybe it’s about taking the next step anyway, shaky and unsure, trusting that God will meet you where your courage runs out.

The thought makes my chest ache in the best way—like hope is stretching wide inside me, making room for something new. I roll down the window, letting the late-summer breeze tangle through my hair, and whisper into the quiet hum of the road.

“Okay, Lord. I’m in.”